


i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

by lookoutlovers



Series: maybe we’re from the same star [2]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, True Love, embarrassing soulmate behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:01:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookoutlovers/pseuds/lookoutlovers
Summary: “do you believe in that? soulmates?”or, the one where words are tender and vocabularies, intimate things, mean a lot.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Series: maybe we’re from the same star [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850386
Comments: 13
Kudos: 128





	i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from this e.e. cummings poem - “i carry your heart with me”. 
> 
> originally posted as a prompt on my [tumblr](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/post/624648188272508928/can-u-write-smth-about-eliott-and-lucas-using-each). i hope u enjoy! 💌

i.

the morning light curls softly over eliott’s shoulders in thin slants. it slips through the cracks in the blinds far too easily, because despite the fact they’ve been living here together for six months now, they still haven’t managed to put up curtains. just one of the mundane things that got pushed aside amidst the thrill of the new chapter in their lives.

eliott, after waking slowly, blinks at lucas between those little strokes of sunlight, and, smiling, he says, “morning, my love.”

and it’s — it’s not like it is out of the blue, for an endearment to slip out between them like that. they use them all the time. but it’s just, from eliott — it’s never that one. often, it’s _baby_ , or _sunshine_ , even, sometimes _darling_. but never this.

unspokenly, _my love_ , has become lucas’ thing, folded itself into his elocution, tucked tightly into his chest, kept there by the way the words always seem to make eliott glisten. but like this, in the morning light, they sound good, spoken in the pretty cadence of eliott’s voice, muffled by bedsheets and a little raspy from sleep. he doesn’t know why it takes him aback so severely, the simple mutter of two syllables, but it does. and his thoughts seem to scatter.

swallowing, lucas whispers, “hi,” voice wavering, “morning.”

if eliott notices the way lucas stutters, the way his heart spills out everywhere, like the sunlight through their blinds, he doesn’t mention it.

ii.

on lucas’ eighteenth birthday there is sunshine and a grinning boy next to him as he wakes up. there is breakfast in a nearby park surrounded by flowers and laughter. there is lunch with his mother, and a party back at the apartment, all of his friends squished together in the only place that has ever truly felt like home.

to lucas’ surprise, eliott lets him choose the music, because it _is_ his birthday after all. lucas grins triumphantly, sauntering up to the speaker to plug in his phone, while simultaneously scrolling through his spotify to find the playlist he has in mind.

the apartment is bustling. yann and basile are setting up a game of cards at the kitchen table, a few others lingering around them. emma is making a jug of some strange, sickly sweet cocktail, while alexia documents the whole thing with her phone from behind, stifling giggles into her palm. idriss and sofiane are on the sofa, bickering over who gets to have the last slice of barbecue pizza. and lucas’ heart feels so full he finds himself, momentarily, unable to breathe.

but then there is a pair of arms sliding around his shoulders from behind, and that familiar smell spills everywhere — one he isn’t even sure is just singularly eliott anymore or if it’s the smell of the both of them now and the home they’ve crafted together — and the feeling morphs into something softer, and lucas sighs, breathless.

he smiles lightly, and hits shuffle on his playlist.

“ _dubstep_ , lucas?” yann calls from the kitchen instantly, sending lucas an unimpressed look. “really?”

lucas would be more embarrassed if it weren’t for the way eliott tucks his face into the crook of lucas’ neck, pressing a pleased hum to the skin there.

“knew you liked it, really,” eliott says.

lucas can only, with how insanely he’s smiling, shove him in response.

iii.

“so,” daphné is saying, shuffling the assortment of paint card samples that are scattered over the cafè table. “what do you think? cream or baby blue for the living room walls?” 

lucas purses his lips, scanning the cards before deciding, “cream. the baby blue looks like something out of a hospital waiting room.”

“that’s so weird,” daphné frowns. “eliott literally said the _exact_ same thing when i asked him.”

something in lucas’ chest swirls, warm, a bit strange. “you asked eliott before me?” he huffs out lightly. mostly, to deflect the weight of the observation. “rude.”

daphnè only smiles knowingly. “you two are so in sync,” she says, eyes dripping with fondness. “it’s so romantic.”

“yeah, yeah.” lucas sighs. “the power of soulmates, and all that.” he makes a vague gesture with his hand, expecting the conversation to drift onto something else, back to the serious question that is what colour the walls of daphné and basile’s new apartment are going to be.

but daphné doesn’t let it go, instead she tilts her head, curious, and she asks, “do you believe in that? soulmates?”

lucas freezes. the thing is he has his theories, the ones about multiple universes, multiple lucases and even eliotts who he is sure meet in every single one. but that word, _soulmates_ , the weight it holds and the significance it denotes, it’s a lot. it’s a lot to look at a person and to decide, _it’s you_. it’s been hard, for lucas, to take someone by the shoulders, or to hold their face between his hands, and to tell them, _you were made for me._

that, in theory, seems like the hardest, most devastating thing in the world, to give someone every piece of yourself and take every bit of them in return. but with eliott, it’s never been that scary. with eliott, lucas was able to take that terrifying thing between his hands, like a nightmare, and say, _i want this, it doesn’t scare me anymore._

with eliott, the things that once seemed impossible unfold into something that lucas can touch with his very own hands. something real.

daphné is still watching him carefully. lucas’ tea has mostly gone cold. “i didn’t, before,” he admits.

“but now?”

“i mean i love eliott more than anything. i guess i know now that i’ve ended up in the right universe.”

iv.

wednesday’s are spent with lucas’ mother, most weeks, either at their apartment, where they’ll make her dinner, or out at some new cafe she’s been dying to try.

this week they’re sitting at an outside table of a coffee shop that looks over a beautiful park. the smell of summer wraps around them, the midday sunlight warms their skin. when lucas’ mother starts up a conversation about the run in she’d had with some rude woman at the farmers market she visited at the weekend eliott is more than delighted to indulge her.

“oh tea,” eliott says, casually, his eyebrows raised, enrapt, as his mother continues to explain this extensive story.

she pauses, frowning. “what is that nonsense word?” she flaps her hand vaguely towards lucas, huffing. “lucas says it all the time, i don’t understand the talk of you young people anymore.”

they all laugh, brushing it off like it’s easy, like it doesn’t, in the grand scheme of things, mean anything. and perhaps it shouldn’t — it’s only a word, after all. but the thing is, he’s never heard eliott use it before, not as often as lucas probably does. so it sort of does. it means so much, to be told that you’ve become a part of someone, when for so long you felt like you were always going to be alone.

because lucas is stupidly in love with the loveliest boy on earth. because every time he’s wrapped up in eliott’s arms he feels safer than he’s ever felt before. because having someone tell you that you’re the only thing that matters to them feels like too much on most days. because eliott is an ocean, swallowing lucas up into this whirlwind of emotions that he’s experiencing for the first time every day they spend together. because love is scary, and it’s tender, and it’s everything lucas ever dreamed for it to be.

because he’s been thinking about the idea of having a soulmate, a lot, recently. so much that it’s been consuming him.

“i guess his sass has been rubbing off on me,” eliott says, before he rests his head on lucas’ shoulder, smiling. when lucas glances down, all he sees is light — caught in eliott’s eyelashes, flickering in the soft blue of his eyes, curved along the slant of his cheekbones.

his mother coos at them. and lucas, with his heart in his throat, can’t do anything but laugh, and think, _to be this in love._

v.

it’s not something that lucas is too fussed over for a while, until idriss is next to point it out again one evening.

“you’re starting to sound like him,” he says, looking at lucas amusedly from across the kitchen. “it’s disgusting.”

lucas frowns, the just opened can of beer in his hand hissing beneath the staccato notes of some meagre pop song coming from the living room.

“like who?” he asks lamely, despite the fact that it’s already extremely obvious who idriss is talking about.

language is a vast thing, see. vocabulary, though, it’s distinctive. all the words known and used by a particular person; verbs, nouns and articulations spoken out of habit or expression. abbreviations and inflections, all taken from a place or a person that made enough of an impact to latch on. said enough until the words become your own, like in the way yann calls the playstation remotes _the thingys._ or in the way his mother ends every single one of their weekly phone calls with _take care my darling_. the way emma repeatedly announces her presence to a group with _what’s up losers_ , or something of the sort.

or, like, thirty seconds ago precisely, when lucas had said: “art is subjective, idriss,” because he’d been laughing at the photo lucas showed him of the painting he had done the other day because he and eliott had gotten bored and he wanted to try. 

idriss sends him a pointed look. “you know exactly who i’m talking about.”

lucas huffs, nursing his beer to his chest. “and what?” he jabs.

“nothing! jesus, don’t get so defensive. i’m just saying, it’s something i’ve noticed, is all.”

“oh,” lucas breathes out, not really knowing what to do with the information, but feeling his cheeks flush at the admission anyway.

it’s at this moment that eliott enters the kitchen.

“hey guys,” he grins, coming over and slinging an arm over lucas’ shoulder, then pressing a kiss to his cheek. lucas wonders if he can feel the heat that stains the skin there, how loudly his heart is beating.

“eliott,” idriss says, “i can’t believe you’ve turned lucas into a massive lovesick puppy.”

eliott huffs out a confused laugh. “what?”

“nothing,” lucas glares at idriss. then, softer, turning to kiss eliott’s jaw, “nothing, sweetheart.”

eliott hums, leaning into lucas’ touch, the warmth of him as he noses along eliott’s skin.

“well,” idriss announces, suddenly. “i’m gonna go. see you later, soulmates.” and he goes, like a tornado, stirring; leaving a silence in his wake.

lucas blinks after him. eliott shifts slightly at his side.

then, “do you think we are?” lucas asks after a moment, his voice small. they haven’t spoken about this before, see, not in such obvious words. “do you think we’re soulmates?”

when eliott smiles it’s blinding, like when you close your eyes against the sun and all you can see is orange light, spilling everywhere, warmth on the tip of your nose.

“well, yes,” he answers easily, moving to face lucas. “i can’t imagine there being anyone else in the world who fits more than you do.”

when lucas’ heart swells it does so severely. he can feel it, almost, as it expands and overflows, as something unfurls between his ribcage, like flowers blooming under the raft of sun.

he steps closer, hands fumbling to hold wherever he can, pulling eliott into him. he goes easily, palms fitting into the slant of lucas’ jaw, the curve of his cheeks. 

“me neither,” lucas admits quietly. eyes shutting against the weight of their foreheads pressing together, the tender way eliott says, “i love you, lucas,” and then kisses him gently.

“i love you too,” lucas says, “my love.” _my soulmate._

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading! i’m on tumblr [@lumierelovers](https://lumierelovers.tumblr.com/) ! ✨


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